Cocoon
by blahblahblah97
Summary: 'You run (run run) Because you're a little murderer Wrapped up in the illusion of a peacekeeper and a diplomat And God knows this is not how you wanted things to be.' After the Season Two finale. Clarke leaves in search of repentance, but she isn't the only one with that burden to bear. Bellamy and Clarke.


**AN: Hey guys! Clodagh back with this puppy I've been working on for quite a few months on and off. I got the original idea for this to be set at the time Finn died, but more episodes kept coming and the season finished and by the time it came to actually setting the story it felt like the writers had already set it up for me! Thanks, guys! Anyway Bellarke is basically my life source now and my OTP, and I hope I do them and the characters justice! There will be more Bellarke stories in the future. There is one in the making which is an AU with Bartender Bellamy and drunk Clarke. Who does not love the sound of that? I hope you guys enjoy and this helps keep people going during this god awful hiatus. WHY MARCH WHY.**

 **P.S. I find the band Catfish and the Bottlemen's music is perfect for Bellarke. I don't know why, but it just is, so I recommend listening to their album when reading this story. Also Years and Years 'King' for a certain scene. 'I was a king under your control' is SO BELLARKE. GAH.**

I cocoon  
Round your shoulders  
When you're half cut  
And you're frozen  
And you've got that visible breathing  
You're depending on me again.

 **-Catfish and the Bottlemen 'Cocoon'.**

You run (run run)

Because you're a little murderer

Wrapped up in the illusion of a peacekeeper and a diplomat

And God knows this is not how you wanted things to be.

So you leave

Because you can't stand the accusatory looks and the hushed tones and the

Glare of Jasper that cuts like a knife.

You leave because you can bear it (you have to bear it) alone.

You leave and you make it to the closest bunker

Where you hop in and try to forget

All the things you've done.

'None of us are innocent.'

You settle in and spend a few days scouring the land

In a search for repentance

But you find none.

Your solitude serves as a punishment

But does the punishment fit the crime?

Clarke had been on her own about a week when she's in the forest and sense someone tailing her. It's when she hears the third twig snap that she straightens and sighs. 'Go home, Octavia.'

A voice much deeper-but equally as comforting as- Octavia's rings out behind her. 'Wrong Blake.'

Bellamy had always been an explosion. He would create the greatest sense of comfort, or the greatest sense of unease. He'd make you feel big or he'd make you feel very small. And worst of all, he'd make you feel all the opposites at once and you wouldn't know whether you are coming are going, Clarke thinks.

Clarke doesn't turn around. Looking at him would make this harder, and she's allowing herself this selfishness. 'Go home,' she repeats and starts walking determinedly onwards.

Heavy footsteps follow suit.

'Clarke, I know you're pissed-'

'I'm not pissed.' She is.

'But really I was being practical, you left with no supplies.'

Clarke had barely noticed. The last few days had passed in a haze of red. She hears rustling and distracts herself with the trees, marking them.

'Clarke.'

'Bellamy,' she echoes and can practically see his eyes roll skyward.

'Jesus, Clarke, would you please look at me?'

Clarke gives in-maybe to punish herself more, she's not sure at this stage- and turns around. Bellamy looks how she feels, his dark eyes pronounced by the bags underneath them. He doesn't comment on how awful she's sure she looks, and she doesn't either. Instead he holds up the bag like a peace offering, along with a heart-breaking smile. 'Come on. I'm starved.'

Bellamy fusses and sits Clarke down and creates a small fire and goes about prepping and cooking the meal, and it's not until the smell wafts up her nose that she realises she's hungry.

She sits in silence while he works, curled in on herself. There are a million things she could say or ask, but instead Clarke settles on a familiar topic, something she can handle. 'How are the ribs?'

Bellamy doesn't miss a beat and shrugs. 'They've been better, they've been a lot worse.'

Bellamy pauses before speaking again. 'How's the arm?' he asks and Clarke's surprise is clearly visible because he explains. 'Monty told me you got banged up inside the mountain.'

Clarke nods- that makes sense. 'It's fine,' she replies shortly, wrapping her arms around herself.

'Can I see?' he asks and she grimaces. 'Come on, Clarke. You didn't bring a first aid kit with you either,' he reminds her.

'I get it, Bellamy. I screwed up,' Clarke snaps, and he raises his hands.

'That's not what I'm saying, Clarke, and you know it.' And he's right, she knows he is, so she takes off her jacket. Bellamy takes her arm and rolls up the sleeve of her shirt delicately- like she's made of glass. And Clarke supposes she is- glass and steel and china and iron, because she had to be strong to do what she did but she had to be weak too. She's lost in thought and only jolt out of it when Bellamy presses down on her arm and she lets out a hiss of pain. 'Hey!' Clarke exclaims and Bellamy gives her a look. 'It's infected,' he says flatly, and starts rummaging through his pack. He takes out a bottle of alcohol and hesitates. 'Even if I clean this it'll be dirty as soon as you pull your sleeve back down.'

'What are you saying, Bellamy?' Clarke asks through gritted teeth, knowing full well the commentary would start soon.

'You stink, Clarke, and that's coming from me.' Bellamy did smell, yes, but it was always a mixture of pine and woods and sweat and _Bellamy_ , and Clarke would never find it in her to be able to say he stunk. 'There's a lake nearby. We can go get you cleaned off, wash these clothes and then sleep. Then if you want, I will leave you and go home in the morning. Do we have a deal?' he asks, looking at her in earnest. She knows he's right, she hasn't washed or changed since the time at Mountain Weather. Clarke considers him for a moment before standing and packing up the stuff. 'Come on then,' she says gruffly, and she thinks she catches a hint of a smile on Bellamy's face when he stands and puts out the fire.

They make it to the lake in record time, most of the trek made in silence. Bellamy wouldn't tell Clarke how everyone was- he didn't assume she'd want to know. He knew that while not knowing would hurt, hearing about her mom and friends would kill her, because at the minute they remind Clarke of everything she had done. Instead he makes a general remark- that the camp was now fully secure and operational, a typical leader Bellamy statement that was said in the voice usually reserved for Octavia, a softness in it that Clarke had to earn being a recipient of.

It's beautiful, she has to admit. Quiet. Instead of the sort of quiet that left Clarke alone to her thoughts it was a beautiful distraction. 'It's safe,' Bellamy confirms, knowing what Clarke was thinking. She nods and Bellamy holds back, taking in the view. Clarke pushes forward to the side of the lake and is already taking off her backpack and jacket when she asks 'Hey Bellamy, you packed clothes in there, right?'

Bellamy doesn't even glance at her when he replies. 'Yeah, Octavia when through your things in case you were worried- what are you doing?' his cuts off sharply, whirling around so his back is to her. He's red even on the back of his neck, and Clarke can't help but smirk at the hilarity of Bellamy Blake being uncomfortable at the sight of a woman stripping. Clarke pauses in the midst of unzipping her trousers and says 'you can't exactly get clean in dirty clothes, Bellamy.'

'Right, right,' he replies, scratching the back of his head. He turns his head over his shoulder slightly and points to Clarke's left. 'Go round that corner and there's a little alcove if you want something more private.'

Clarke bundles her clothes together and slips away to where Bellamy pointed. She glances back, and Bellamy is still standing overlooking the lake, the sun so bright behind him she had to turn away.

Bellamy sits by the edge of the water and waits. And waits. And waits. He feels like that's all he's done lately, and Bellamy Blake is not a waiting kind of guy. He's a man of action. But this- this had to be treated gently, Clarke had to be treated gently, because she'd leave again in a heartbeat. He sat in silence, guarding, he supposed, and his favourite thing- waiting.

Eventually the silence had gone on too long, the sounds of Clarke splashing had been dulled and replaced by a quieter noise. Bellamy listens out for a few more seconds before calling out 'Clarke?' There's no answer so he barges round the corner to where Clarke is partially covered by high grass. He slows when he sees she looks unharmed, but feels his heart drop when he figures out the odd noise he heard was her crying.

Bellamy had seen crying before.

He had seen Octavia cry, his mom cry, Charlotte and other kids at the camp. He'd seen Abby cry when she saw Clarke again, he'd seen Raven cry over Finn. He'd even seen Clarke cry a few times before- over Charlotte and Abby and Finn. But not like this. This was unlike anything he'd seen or heard before. She was practically bent double and the noises coming out of her were barely human, a raw pain Bellamy hadn't seen anyone in before. As Bellamy got closer he saw she was scrubbing violently at her hands, which were red and raw looking. Without a second thought he got in the water, shedding his jacket and placing it on the ground. 'Clarke,' he says, trying to get her attention. She looks up at him with a tear streaked face and shaking hands and croaks out 'it won't come off.'

Bellamy glances around Clarke at the dirty water and the pile of soaking clothes on the ground near her and realised with relief that she'd kept on some garments. He moves closer to her and asks 'what won't come out?'

Clarke tries. She does. He can see the battle playing out across her features before her face crumples. 'The blood.' Clarke sniffs and goes back to scrubbing her hands.

'Clarke, Clarke stop!' Bellamy exclaims, capturing her wrists in his hand. 'There's no blood on your hands. Look,' he holds her hands closure to her face, and Clarke looks with unseeing eyes.

'Really, Bellamy? There's no blood on my hands?' she queries and he nods. Clarke looks through him when she replies.

'The Grounders that attacked our first camp.'

His relief is short-lived. 'Clarke….' He begins, but she keeps going, her tone dull and her face impassive.

'Charlotte. The Grounders at the bridge. Anya. The people of Tondc. _Finn._ Thousands of people- innocent people, _children-_ from Mount Weather,' she finishes fiercely, her eyes snapping up to his. 'All those deaths? They were because of me. All that blood is on my hands. And I don't think it washes off, Bellamy.'

Bellamy looks at her for a second. She's defiant, trying to punish herself when she's already suffering enough. The responsibility is crushing her, it's too much for any one person to bear alone. 'You're right, Clarke,' he admits and it surprises her. 'You have done things to protect our people, and there is blood on your hands,' she flinches but Bellamy doesn't let her pull away. Instead he takes one of her hands in his. 'But Clarke- there's blood on mine too. You were not the only one who gave that order and pulled that lever. We tried, Clarke,' he implores, 'we tried to be good, to be better than we were on the Ark. You didn't do it alone, Clarke,' Bellamy emphasises, squeezing her hand. 'You aren't alone.'

Clarke stares at their intertwined hands. Any remnants of blood left on her heads was now also on Bellamy's, as it always had been. She'd been stupid, so stupid, thinking leaving all of them would serve as a punishment for her but help them. Bellamy had been going through everything she was going through. It wasn't just her, it was Clarke and Bellamy, as it always had been. Allies, partners, equals. Never a decision made without the others input, they both lead that camp. And they both doomed all those people to their fates, but they also both saved their people. They both carried the weight and the reward and the scars and the trophies of those decisions because they were here, they had made it.

Oh but the price was high.

They bear it so the others don't have to.

'Bellamy,' she whispers, her voice full of things she can't say. But Bellamy being Bellamy- knowing her better than she knows herself- he smiles at her. It's small, but it's a start. They stay like that for a while, hands intertwined and foreheads pressed together. Sharing the weight of the burden, sharing the strength to carry on. She's not sure how long they're been like that until he says 'come on, we need to dry up. It's almost nightfall.'

True to his word, there are dry clothes in the backpack and they dry off and change without any awkwardness that was there between them before. They set up camp for the night and it's only logical they share a blankets and stay close, it is night time and temperatures drop.

That's what they tell themselves anyway, as they cocoon into each other's arms.

The next morning when Clarke wakes Bellamy is sitting nearby, his stuff packed.

'Well?' he asks as she gets up. Clarke hesitates a second before straightening. 'I'm not ready to go back. Not yet.'

Bellamy nods and shoulders his bag. As he brushes past her, Clarke's arm shoots out and grabs his sleeve. 'Bellamy.'

He turns to her, masking the hurt in his eyes. He'd known she wasn't ready, it was still too raw. But it hadn't stopped him hoping he'd be enough. 'Stay,' she pleads, and he wasn't expecting that.

'What?' he asks, dumbfounded.

'Stay. With me. I'll go back someday, Bellamy, I want to go back. I just….can't. Not yet. But every inch of my being is telling me I want to stay with you.'

Bellamy pauses before replying. 'Clarke, you can't ask me to choose between you or Octavia.'

Clarke shakes her head violently. 'No, God no. I know it will be Octavia every time. But- I'm asking you to take a chance on me. To believe in me. I don't- I don't have the strength to go back on my own,' she admits, before imploring him with her gaze, 'but I _will_ go back. Soon,' and Bellamy crumbles. She would come back, he has every hope.

'Whatever you need, Princess.'

They've been roaming about two weeks and are resting underneath a tree when Clarke addresses everything that had been building up between them. Bellamy had never acted on it because it was Clarke's decision to make. 'Bellamy….' She asks in an uncharacteristically uncertain voice, 'are you mine?' Bellamy feels his heart skip a beat and he knows every beat is for her, and every breath in his body will be to keep her and Octavia and their people safe. Bellamy Blake doesn't love many people- only Octavia. But Clarke had wrangled her way into his heart and it wasn't like the way he felt for his sister. He would die for Octavia, but he would live for Clarke. He wasn't used to this feeling, but knows without a doubt the answer to her question. 'Yes,' he answers simply. He can see her nod out of the corner of his eye, her blonde halo glistening in the sun. 'Are you mine?' he asked hesitantly, and fears that this will drive her away. Clarke is quiet for a second before shaking her head. 'No,' she replies, 'but I want to be.'

Bellamy moves his head to look at her and she sits up, eager to explain. 'You have to understand- I loved Finn. Or I thought I did. I was naïve and young and looking back now- I cared for him a great deal, but it wasn't like that. But after everything that has happened…there's something broken. Inside me. It's healing,' she adds with certainty, 'but I'm not complete yet. And I don't want to be yours until there's something there to give, until I'm whole,' she finishes. There's an unspoken question between them- so much between them is unspoken, but said through gestures and looks and being so in sync sometimes Clarke feels like they're one person- she's the head and he's the heart. Bellamy leans back. 'I can wait,' he says simply.

She takes him by surprise one day. They're hunting in the forest and Clarke catches something, finally, as it had become a running joke between them that there was a reason that Clarke was strictly medical personnel only- when she reaches up and kisses him. It is firm, a conscience decision and she tastes of the sun and joy, and through his surprise he can't think of anything better than this. She tasted like joy, and joy was better on earth.*

They part and Bellamy is in shocked awe, blinking dumbly at her. 'You…' he starts and trails off. Clarke laughs, a carefree sound he hasn't heard in a long time. 'Yeah,' she agrees, 'it's me. And…I'm as whole as I can get. And I'm yours. If you'll have me.'

Bellamy reaches out gently and cups her cheek in his hand. 'I have waited for a long time to hear you say that.'

'Scars and all?' she asks him ruefully, and he leans down to kiss her.

'Scars and all.'

Two weeks takes them back to Camp Jaha- not home, not quite. They were already there, because home had also been where the other was. However it was empty without the people to fill it. They're breaking the tree line, both staring at the camp. Clarke pauses and Bellamy glances at her. 'Are you sure about this?' he asks and she swallows.

'Nope.' Clarke takes his hand and looks up at him. 'But I'm sure about you.'

Hand in hand they return, the triumphant leaders, the knight and the princess, finally where they should be- a little broken, a little lost, a little battle scarred-

Together.


End file.
